Literature – Page 2

Blank

staring deep into
an empty sheet of paper
conjuring the muse
–
winter’s canvas-
a palette of pine
and fresh snow

luminous, rising
from below an ebony lake
in her hand, a sword
–
sunlit hillsides
shadows rolling
slowly to the shore

windows thrown open
sheer curtains gently wafting
in the evening breeze
–
becoming Icarus
flying westward
chasing the sun

as one with her tree
longing for the one true love
she can never have
–
high in the branches
she watches him
ride away

caressed by the pen
ink and paper combine with
the lightness of verse
–
liquid words
meandering
into prose

The sun has risen
and shone its warmth on my face
for the final time.